


The Ache of Forgiveness

by doodlegirll



Series: Forgiveness [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Damen's scars, Forgiveness, Guilt, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Nightmares, Poor Laurent, Sharing a Bed, why do I always hurt the characters that I love?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlegirll/pseuds/doodlegirll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent hesitantly reached out a hand and laid it against Damen’s back, splaying his fingers across the rough patchwork of skin. It was warm beneath his palm, and Laurent could feel the powerful muscles at rest underneath.<br/>His hand was shaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ache of Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arianwen44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianwen44/gifts).



> Inspiration for this fic was taken from a piece of fanart by Becca (aka arianwen44) on tumblr, which can be found [here](http://arianwen44.tumblr.com/post/137261603694/do-you-think-that-laurent-ever-regrets-what-he-did). It's absolutely gorgeous! This fic is dedicated to her. :) 
> 
> I've been wanting to write a fic for the Captive Prince fandom since I read the first two books back in May in the span of three days, and her art is what finally gave me the push I needed to finally sit down and do so! I sincerely hope I did C.S. Pacat's amazing works justice! 
> 
> I eagerly await "Kings Rising," with only eight days (8. DAYS!) left to wait!

  _The more I know, the less I understand_

_All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again_

_I've been trying to get down to the heart of the matter_

_But my will gets weak_

_And my thoughts seem to scatter_

_But I think it's about forgiveness_

\- Don Henley, “Heart of the Matter”

* * *

 

Laurent had long thought himself too old for night terrors.

He had been prone to them as a boy. Some of his earliest memories were of him dashing down the hallway and diving under the duvet of his brother’s bed, where safety was provided in the form of Auguste’s voice in his ear, telling him that he would fight off any monsters that dared try to carry Laurent away into the night, and he would drift back to sleep there, his brothers arms around him, protecting him, and he would awaken in his own bed the next morning.

The night terrors of his childhood paled in comparison to that of his adult years, especially to those of the past several months. The dark demons that haunted his slumber left him soaked in sweat, shaking, his heart pounding in his ears, unable to calm himself for hours afterward.

But this dream…this dream had been different. Worse than any other he had had before now.

In his nightmares, Laurent had seen Damen die a thousand different ways. He had seen him beheaded at Marlas, on his uncle’s orders. He’d seen him taken down in the midst of battle, a sword through his heart. He’d seen Kastor’s knife protruding from his neck as blood pooled in his lifeless eyes. But never before had he seen Damen fall to his own hand, at his orders.

Until tonight.

Laurent forced himself to unclench his hands from the sheets of his bed, where they were routed into fists. Cold sweat poured down his face and back, his hair clinging to his forehead and neck. He was trembling, his pulse racing, as though he had just run a mile in a dry heat. He tried to regain control of his breathing, inhaling slowly through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. After a few moments, he felt himself begin to relax, if only piece by tiny piece, and he slowly lowered himself back against the bed.

He felt Damen shift in the bed next to him, mumbling incoherently in his sleep as he did so. Laurent turned his head to look at him, to smile at him fondly, to ground himself in Damen’s features, softened in sleep. He felt his blood run cold, however, when he found himself not face to face with his lover, as he had predicted, but instead gazing at his back.

Laurent swallowed against the lump in his throat. In the pale light of the waning fireplace, he could see the topography of scars across Damen’s back and shoulders, raised and twisted together like a pit of coiled snakes.

They had healed well; Paschal had seen to that with his cinnamon-scented salves. Damen said that they did not pull, did not twinge, did not ache at all, even in the height of battle, and often it seemed as though he could go about his life forgetting they were even there, that such a horrendous act of hatred had ever been meted out against his flesh.

But Laurent could never forget. Especially not tonight.

He hesitantly reached out a hand and laid it against Damen’s back, splaying his fingers across the rough patchwork of skin. It was warm beneath his palm, and Laurent could feel the powerful muscles at rest underneath.

His hand was shaking.

He snatched it back as Damen made a soft, inquiring sound. He turned his head and opened his eyes, blinking blearily in the dark of the room as he looked over his shoulder at him. He’d forgotten how light of a sleeper Damen could be.

“Laurent?” He slurred.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Laurent said. He was surprised at how thick his voice sounded.

“It’s fine.” Damen turned and propped himself up on an elbow, yawning deeply, like a lazy lion as he did so. He peered at Laurent in the dim light, cocking his head slightly to the side as he regarded him. “Is everything alright?”

Laurent knew there was no sense in hiding anything from Damen. The King of Akielos was a skilled observer, rivaled only by Laurent himself, but especially when it came to the mannerisms of his lover. He had ways of wringing the truth from even the most stubborn of resistors, and Laurent usually would not hesitate to confide in him.

But tonight, Laurent hesitated.

“Yes.” He lied. “I am fine.”

“Are you sure?” Damen’s gaze on him was piercing, as though he could see right through Laurent’s every defense, which, of course, Laurent knew he could; he had scaled those walls long ago, and knew his way around the labyrinth of Laurent’s mind even better than Laurent himself did. Damen reached out a hand, and laid it against Laurent’s chest. “You are trembling.”

“I,” Laurent started. “I had a dream.”

Damen stared at him. “A nightmare?”

Laurent nodded. He was suddenly overcome with the need to be close to him, to press himself against him until he was certain their bodies could become one. It was childish and very unbecoming of a king, to need to be comforted in this way, but Laurent did not care; he launched himself at the other man, burying his face against Damen’s chest.

Damen, caught off guard, staggered, collapsing back against the bed. He wrapped the arm not pinned down by Laurent’s body around Laurent’s waist, holding him close against him as Laurent tried to regain control of his body as it acted involuntarily against his will, still trembling, as sounds not unlike broken sobs escaped from his throat.

“Laurent,” Damen soothed, “Laurent, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you.” Laurent swallowed, wincing at the pain from the constricting of his throat.

Damen said nothing more, just held Laurent as the Veretian king slowly began to calm. He stroked his fingers down Laurent’s spine, allowing Laurent time to breathe, not saying anything.

Finally, Laurent, his face still pressed against Damen’s chest, managed to choke out, “I’m sorry.”

“There are several things worth being sorry for,” Damen said, calmly. “Having a nightmare should not be one of them.”

“That’s,” Laurent started, then stopped.

Damen very carefully rearranged the two of them so that they were both sitting up in a much more comfortable position that also allowed Damen the ability to free his other arm. He kept a hand at the small of Laurent’s back as Laurent shifted even closer to the other man, practically crawling into Damen’s lap, but he didn’t care, and neither did Damen, as it seemed.

“Laurent,” Damen said softly. “You can tell me, if you want to. It will not change anything I feel or believe about you.”

Laurent met his eyes. Damen’s were so patient, so full of understanding. Laurent wondered if he had nightmares, too.

He had shared so much with this man. He was the first, since Auguste, with which he felt that he could, and would be completely safe in doing so. He was one of the greatest men Laurent had ever met. He searched Damen’s eyes for several moments; he believed him when he said that it wouldn’t change how he felt about Laurent. He doubted there was much that could, after everything they’d been through.

He dropped his head against Damen’s chest again.

“It was about you.” He said quietly into the skin of Damen’s shoulder, the one with the scar caused by Auguste’s sword all those years ago. “You…you were back on the cross, on my orders. They just kept…they wouldn’t stop, they kept going…and I just stood there and watched. I let it happen. I was trapped within my own body, yelling, but they couldn’t hear me. You were screaming, and then you weren’t. You passed out and died right there, and even then, I ordered them to continue.”

He shuddered, and felt Damen’s arms hold him tighter, pulling him closer. He threaded a hand into Laurent’s hair, and Laurent felt his heart constrict at the tenderness of it; such a simple touch, and yet, it offered him more comfort than he had ever thought possible.

Neither of them said anything for several minutes; instead, they sat there in the quiet of the bedchambers they had as of late begun to share, and breathed in the other’s presence. Laurent slowly felt himself begin to relax, felt the storm within him begin to quiet, and he found it much easier to breathe as the knot in his gut and the lump at the back of his throat began to abate.

Still, he knew what he had to say. He raised his head and looked at one of the pale scars that ran along the dark skin of Damen’s shoulder, and traced it with his finger. He refused to meet Damen’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He finally croaked. “I don’t expect that you will ever forgive me, and I don’t expect that I deserve it, either, for the violence I inflicted upon you in Arles, but please know that I am sorry.”

Damen’s hand, calloused from years of handling a sword, was gentle as he turned Laurent’s chin up to meet his gaze.

“Laurent,” he said, and his voice was fill of so many things left unsaid, and yet so loudly proclaimed at the same time. “Have you forgiven me? For what I did to your brother, for the grief and pain I caused you all those years?”

Laurent hesitated, for just a moment. It often caught him aback at how easily Damen spoke of what he had done to Auguste.

“Yes,” he said, finally, truthfully.

Damen smiled at him, and his eyes were warm. “Then you understand that I have forgiven you, too.” He said. The hand still in Laurent’s hair came to rest at the base of Laurent’s skull, and Damen leant his forehead against his.

“I forgive you, Laurent.” He said softly, his breath tickling Laurent’s cheek. “I forgave you long ago. I think my forgiveness is not what is in question, but rather, whether or not you’ve forgiven yourself.”

Laurent swallowed, and his hand came to rest just over Damen’s heart. He wondered how someone could know him so easily, without him even having to say anything.

Damen had forgiven him, but he was right: Laurent would never forgive himself. For all the days of his life, he would regret ever raising a hand to this man that, against every plan he had ever conceived, had earned his trust, and his heart.

“Let us put this behind us,” Damen said after a few more moments. “Let me…” He swallowed. “Let me prove it to you. I will spend all the days of my life proving it to you, if that’s what it takes. I have forgiven you, Laurent; I did so long ago.”

“You are far too noble for your own good.” Laurent said, and he felt himself smile slightly as he did so.

Damen’s lips grazed his forehead. “I have been told that nobility is an honorable trait among kings.” Laurent felt warmth spread from the contact. “A lack of forgiveness is the mark of a depraved life.”

“Ah, but a touch of depravity is the mark of a good lover.” Laurent teased.

He saw Damen grin. He leaned forward, and stopped with his lips just short of Laurent’s.

“Then let me show you how depraved I am.” He said, and Laurent met him with equal fervor as Damen pushed him back against the sheets of the bed.

New lash marks stretched across Damen’s back, this time from the slow, stinging thrill of Laurent’s fingernails, and not the end of a whip. Damen lavished slow and tender affection to every part of Laurent’s body, including sucking a dark purple mark on the particularly sensitive area where Laurent’s neck met his jaw. Through the haze of mounting pleasure as Damen offered himself over to Laurent, and Laurent offered him in turn, he knew he didn't deserve this man, this kind, gentle king that, against all reasons to the contrary, had found something worth forgiving in him, worth _loving_ in him.

Later, Laurent would retrace the marks on Damen’s back, spreading his hands across the expanse of skin and sinew and powerful muscle, and again, would feel that guilt rise up within him, and again, Damen would prove to him that he is deserving of the forgiveness he is offered, would keep true to his promise of proving it to him again and again and again, until Laurent himself began to believe it.

But for now, as he once again watched the Akielon king sleep beside him, Laurent pondered that he would take the nightmares, and the demons deep within him, so long as he had Damen to chase them away.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over on tumblr [here](http://doodlegirll.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
